


Look At Him

by righteousgonewrong



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 03:51:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4248300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/righteousgonewrong/pseuds/righteousgonewrong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <br/>
    <i>Look at him.</i>
  </p>
  <p>Realize that he is something pure, something amazing. This boy can do no wrong in your eyes, not truly. Whatever wrong he does is countered by how much you feel for him.</p>
  <p>Sure, he's a brat sometimes. But honestly, you're kind of proud of how headstrong he is. He is yours, his attitude is yours, his nickname is yours.</p>
  <p>And you would do anything to protect every single little piece of this wonderful being you've devoted your life to protecting.<br/></p>
</blockquote>Dean's thoughts told in a series of him looking at Sam.
            </blockquote>





	Look At Him

_Look at him._

You don't see what's so special about him. He's small and red and wrinkly, kind of like a baby rat.

And he keeps crying. Especially when you're trying to sleep. Why can't he just be patient until Mom figures out what he wants, or ask for it like a normal human being? You know he can''t talk, but surely he can point to what he wants or something.

But there's also a spark of pride, when you look at him. That's your baby brother. Yours. You're going to help raise him, teach him how to play baseball (after you learn, of course). You get to show this wrinkly little creature the world.

It's a nice thought.

_Look at him._

He's crying again. You think you are too, but it could just be from the smoke in your eyes. 

You're glad for his wails this time. One of you needs to scream, and it can't be you. You have to be strong. For Dad, and for Sam. You have to watch out for Sammy. You have to get Sam outside. You have to save him. 

You look at him, this vulnerable, tear stained little boy, and you vow to save him. 

Always.

_Look at him._

You might as well. He's been looking at you for hours now, his eyes wide open. Sometimes he cries, sometimes he just sits there and fidgets. But those big hazel eyes always come back to you. And yours are always fixed on him.

He hasn't slept properly since the-- since Mom-- he hasn't slept properly in days. 

Neither have you, of course. But he's the one you're supposed to look out for, not yourself. You'll sleep when Sam does. You're in this together.

To prove your last statement, you crawl into his crib and curl up next to him. Those big eyes watch you almost curiously, taking everything in. Then you see them soften, narrowing until finally they're shut.

You take one last look at the peace--or rather, the illusion of it created by sleep--on his face before you close yours too.

_Look at him._

Realize that he is something pure, something amazing. This boy can do no wrong in your eyes, not truly. Whatever wrong he does is countered by how much you feel for him..

Sure, he's a brat sometimes. But honestly, you're kind of proud of how headstrong he is. He is yours, his attitude is yours, his nickname is yours.

And you would do anything to protect every single little piece of this wonderful being you've devoted your life to protecting. 

_Look at him._

Using those damn eyes on you. The little brat knows you're not going to say no now. Look at the way those eyes flip from big and sad to shining with joy, like the sun emerging from the clouds on a rainy day.

You'd do anything for that smile. You know you would. You wonder if he knows too. 

Sure seems like it, you think, as you watch him eat his cereal with a satisfied smile. Something about that smile makes it impossible to be mad at him.

You watch him and wonder what other evils he'll get up to by using this new hidden talent.

_Look at him._

The Striga is practically sitting on him. It looks... wrong. Not just because it's hurting Sam, but because it looks like death and Sam has always been life to you. But you can see it, the life draining from your brother's bright eyes.

You should shoot it. You want to shoot it. It's taking him. It's taking your Sam. 

But your hands are shaking and you know your aim isn't perfect yet. And looking at him as the Striga sucks his life out, you get a very clear picture of what Sam would look like if you missed. 

Dad comes just in time. 

You look away. But you still see him when you close your eyes.

_Look at him._

You knew he shouldn't have come on the hunt. You wish he'd never come on any hunts. You're good, you've been trained, and you still get hurt. You don't want Sam to get hurt. 

And you were right. 

Look at the cut on his leg. Look at it closely. Is it normal for that much blood to be coming out? Is it deep enough to need stitches? You inspect the cut with the precision of a brain surgeon, and touch it with the softness of a feather. He'll be okay. You're not sure you will.

You look at the pain on his face and decide you never want to see that look again.

_Look at him._

He's always been a headstrong kid. Your headstrong kid. But he'd always known when to draw the line before.

Not this time.

This time he doesn't back down. He looks Dad in the eyes with eyes like wildfire. You hate fire. You feel more like ice: cold, numb, and unmoving. You and Sam argue, but you've never been so fucking opposite before.

You watch him leave. You can't follow him.

_Look at him._

This picture is all you have left of him. 

That makes it sound like he's dead. You try not to think like that, but it feels like he is. Hell, he could be for all you know. 

You try not to think like that.

_Look at him._

It's been two years but he hasn't changed, not really. He's older but it's still Sam, still the same unruly long hair, still the same stubborn set of his shoulders. Every inch of him is familiar to you and your very soul practically sings at the sight of him. 

He's less happy to see you, but it doesn't matter. You're together again, and right now that's all that matters to you.

_Look at him._

How could you look at anything else? Not with him sitting there looking so horribly fucking wrong. 

Sam is supposed to be light. Sam is supposed to be passion and life and he's supposed to light a spark in the parts of you that you thought were numb. He's not supposed to be empty. He's not supposed to be gone. 

You always told yourself you'd do anything to see him smile. You don't realize just how true that statement was until you're summoning a crossroads demon to take your soul away.

Even if you only had a year. You want to look at him. You want to see his smile again. A year is better than nothing.

_Look at him._

He tries so hard to save you. You don't know why. What have you ever done for him besides drag him into things and fail to protect him from them?

But looking at the passion in those familiar eyes throws you off. You're not worth that much. You know you're not. 

You will never understand him.

_Look at him._

This is the last time you're ever going to see him. This time you won't even have a picture to keep you company. You doubt people carry wallets in Hell.

He's barely holding back tears and you wish you had more time to say all that you want to say. You wish you could tell him it's not his fault, that he tried his best, and make him believe it. You wish you could tell him that it's worth it. You wish you could apologize for every time you've ever wronged him. You wish you believed that you would be okay so you could tell him that.

But you don't get the chance.

You die looking at him.

_Look at him._

Something's changed. You can see it in his eyes, the way he holds himself. Your death must have hit him hard. 

But you're back now. You'll make that all better. 

You'll take care of him, just like you always do.

_Look at him._

No, you don't need to. You feel his hands shaking as they twist in your shirt, you feel his heartbeat race beneath your palm. 

The pounding of fear has an almost calming affect on you. Together you stare at the horrors unfolding in front of you. No matter what happens, you're together.

You don't need to look at him when you can feel him.

_Look at him._

You're sore and broken and it hurts but you just keep looking at him. You no longer have any doubts about how this will end. You know Sam will win. You can see it.

Which means this is the last time you're going to see him again. 

You try not to let yourself hope. Last time you told yourself that, you were wrong. You try to tell yourself to let go of that idea right here and now. This is it. For good this time. 

You still hope.

_Look at him._

He's changed again. You can't quite put your finger on it but he's changed. 

You try not to think too far into it. You know it's Sam, Cas wouldn't have messed up that badly. That should be enough for you.

It's not.

Because you know Sam. You know every expression that face can make, all the different ways those eyes can shine. And this is not one of them. 

You don't want to look at him anymore. 

_Look at him._

You don't know what's happening to him. I mean, you understand. But you don't know. Hell didn't leave you with hallucinations like this. Nightmares, yes. But nothing like this.

And worst of all, you don't know what to do about it. Your brother's reality is crumbling around him and all you can do is desperately cling to him by a thread and hope to God--or whoever's listening--that you don't drop him.

_Look at him._

You can't, of course. He's not in Purgatory with you. You're grateful for that, at least (although the most selfish part of you wishes you weren't alone).

You don't have much time to think. No cliched wondering what he's doing, no silent prayers for his wellbeing. But you think of his face. It's what keeps you going. You'll find a way out, and when you do you'll see relief spread through his body. He'll smile, with his brow furrowed in confusion the way it does when he doesn't understand something. You'll get to see him smile again.

You smile as your machete hacks through another vampire's spine.

_Look at him._

His hair is longer. That's the first thing you notice. He looks like he belongs in a L'Oreal commercial.

The second thing you notice is there's something he's not telling you. There's this awkwardness in the air that you didn't expect. Sam looks sheepish. Even after a year, you still have an extensive mental database of Sam's face.

He didn't look for you.

You spent the last year looking for him and he never once looked for you.

You can't look at him right now.

_Look at him._

The trials are breaking him. Not just physically, or sub-atomically or whatever Cas said. They're breaking down all the carefully constructed walls he puts up around his emotions. They're breaking down the tower of strength and okay-ness he tries to convince people that he is. 

You know better. You know he doesn't need that to be strong. You know he doesn't need the trials to be pure. 

You know him.

You wish you could make him feel what you feel, but all you can do is wrap his hand and carry him away.

_Look at him._

You hate seeing Sam unconscious. When he's asleep he looks peaceful, it's the only time the kid's actually relaxed.

When he's unconscious he looks... empty.

You know this isn't right. You know what he would say if he were awake.

But he's not awake. 

So you say yes to Ezekiel. You look your brother in the eyes and you lie to him. And every time he smiles you tell yourself it's worth it. Even after Kevin is killed, you tell yourself Sam is worth it.

Because he is.

_Look at him._

You hate looking at him. Because no matter how much you deny it, those weak human feelings still swell in your heart whenever you look at him. 

You don't understand why you're so attached to this kid. Because you're blood? Blood means nothing to you, you were willing to shoot your own grandfather in the face.

So you spew out hateful words and violent attacks, all to prove to yourself and him that you don't care. 

You look at him and you tell him you don't care.

You're lying.

_Look at him._

How can he look at you? After all that you've done to him, after you tried to kill him. How can he still look at you and say "I have faith in my brother"?

You wish you had half as much faith in yourself as he does. 

But you don't, so you use his. You eat healthy, you smile, you even exercise, all for him. You don't realize you're trying to become him. You know he would be able to handle this. You don't know what's going to happen when you can't anymore.

You do know you'd sooner die than hurt him. And if you knew how to do it...

You look at him and you know you can't let yourself hurt him again.

_Look at him._

He's looking at you again. It's funny how some things don't change even over decades. His eyes are still big, still full of a naive purity. They're the windows into Sam's soul, if you look at them right.

You tell him to close his eyes. Eventually, he does. 

You look at him and you can't do it.

You knew you couldn't. You couldn't even imagine yourself doing it. You were hoping to get by without thinking about it, but you don't need to think to want to stop. You just need to look.

You kill Death. You release the Darkness. You damn the world.

You look at him and you don't regret a thing.


End file.
